


Feiceann sí mil ar chuiseogach i ngach áit

by mentosmorii



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 21:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentosmorii/pseuds/mentosmorii
Summary: A one-shot into what it means to be an older brother, the color of rosebushes, and how to paint with watercolors. Insp. from bird.fairy on instagram





	Feiceann sí mil ar chuiseogach i ngach áit

Narrowing his eyes, Artemis held his work at arm’s length. His hands were flecked with uneven patches of cheap paint that were already beginning to flake off his skin as it dried. In his left hand, he held the product of his afternoon experiment — a rather poorly painted portrait of the tea rose bushes in the garden. Frowning, he set it down near his growing pile of failures, moving to set another sheet of paper on his drafting desk.

For he was finding that although he was quite skilled at painting well, he was woefully inept at painting badly.

When the Hybras rift had dropped him back into this world three years later than he’d stepped out of it, he was not surprised that life had continued marching on without him. He was surprised, however, to find two new additions to the Fowl line. Artemis was perhaps unparalleled in his ability to account for the innumerable twists and turns of life — it was likely that he could count the number of times he’d been really, truly shocked on one hand. All the same, Artemis had never fathomed of a world in which he was anything other than the sole Fowl heir, had never accounted for it in his myriad guesses at what the future could hold.

Myles and Beckett were unlike anything he could have prepared for, and he found himself delighted by this.

Both of the young boys were bright in a way that was tempered by boyhood. Artemis had been more than ready to take them under his wing, but he was finding that they had no desire to be caught up in books and lessons yet. The subject of their interest lay more in fizzing chemical reactions than it did with careful dilution calculations; they preferred digging in the garden over botany; they’d sooner finger paint than they would listen to him drone on about figure studies.

The more time he spent in their company, the more he had to step back and reevaluate how he was meant to care for them. Even though Myles was likely to walk a similar path to his older brother, even he could only humor Artemis’ tendency to turn breakfast into a linguistics lecture for so long. For Myles and Beckett, the world around them was still incredibly messy, and they didn’t yet want order to be imposed onto the exciting, unexplored life that lay before them.

Picking up another piece of paper from the clean stack at the corner of his desk, Artemis began again.

* * *

Regarding his latest piece, Artemis narrowed his eyes. His gaze trailed from detail to detail on the page — he followed the looping series of mustard-yellow swirls in the center to the collection of brilliant reds that formed geometric rosebuds over the bush.

Better.

Artemis set it gently near the pile containing his earlier paintings. Although not quite as free form as he’d wanted it to be, his most recent experiment was at least moving away from replicating the original figure of the rosebush.

“What’re you up to?”

Artemis briefly tensed at the unexpected interruption. Turning away from his project, he regarded Juliet, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wooden doorframe of the study.  

“I’ve found that Myles and Beckett do not enjoy doing landscape studies,” he explained, pushing his chair back.

Juliet looked at him for a moment. “Uh, yeah. They’re four.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Cocking her head as she continued into the room, she peered at some of the paintings he’d discarded. “What’re these?”

“Practice. I’m attempting to ‘let go’ and paint as Myles and Beckett would — I’ve attempted to hold art lessons my way to no avail, so I now am approaching art their way in preparation for when I next spend time with them,” Artemis explained, gesturing to his pile of rejects.

Juliet picked up one of the pieces he’d discarded. “You’ve done a terrific job of that, clearly.”

He sighed, resting his chin on his outstretched hand. “I’m well aware.”

Juliet shrugged, putting the painting back down. “Still, it’s sweet of you to try to dial it back a bit for them.”

“Make no mistake,” he clarified, holding up a hand. “I have not abandoned my goal of teaching them all that I know by the time they go off to primary school.”

“Of course. I’ll bet you’ll have them able to recite the elements by the summer,” Juliet grinned, leaning her weight against the desk.

He smiled. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“No problem,” Juliet said, twirling a stray strand of her hair around a finger idly as she thought. “You know what I’d bet Myles and Beckett would like, actually?”

“Hm?”

“Some of the old paintings you made when we were kids.”

Artemis made a face. “I believe it would be a bit difficult to explain why something I painted is identical to a pre-existing Monet.”

“Not the forgery stuff,” she waved a hand. “I mean original pieces. My brother has a bunch of the weird watercolor paintings that we made back in the day.” 

Artemis quirked an eyebrow upward. “You still have the pictures from when we were younger?”

Juliet snorted. “You think Dom would have let them get thrown out?”

“Fair,” Artemis conceded with a slight grin. “He’s far too sentimental for that.”

Juliet pushed off from the desk at that, moving towards the door. “I _think_ they’re all still in the hall closet, let me check,” she called behind her, disappearing from view.

Sure enough, she soon returned bearing a small storage box made of metal.

It bore no lock, and the only thing protecting its contents was the removable top. Setting it down on the desk, Juliet gestured for Artemis to take a look.

Despite age, the top slid off relatively easily. He gingerly picked it up off the box, and revealing the box’s contents, Artemis and Juliet peered inside.

In the box were various old drawings, each with paper edges that were curling from age. Even so, years of having been kept in dry darkness had preserved the paintings in near pristine condition. The paper on the top of the pile was painted in vivid bursts of watercolor — faded yellows, blues, reds made up the scene of a wrestling ring in front of an American city skyline. It was reminiscent of vintage luchador posters, with black bubble letters painstakingly spelling out ‘Jade Princess’ at the top.

It was likely they’d made this particular drawing when he’d been eight and Juliet was twelve, Artemis reckoned. Turning it over in his hands, he smiled despite himself. It was before she’d started working for the Fowls — when she wasn’t training with her brother, she had been left to explore the vast manor. Mr. and Mrs. Fowl had already begun to suspect that their son was odd, even for a child prodigy, and Angeline had thought it wise to insinuate that Juliet ought to spend some time with her son. After all, Angeline had wheedled, Butler’s responsibilities during the day required leaving Juliet to amuse herself for hours on end. It would be mutually beneficial to encourage the two children to be playmates.

Not long after, Butler had told her to spend the day with Artemis while he went with their uncle and Artemis Sr. on a day trip. That day, she’d dragged Artemis with her to explore the old wing of the house. As they were stepping around covered up furniture, he’d remarked that his mother’s suggestion that they should become companions due to their close ages was, “not quite an argument, but rather an elegant suspicion”.

She’d told him that sounded stupid. He’d agreed.

Juliet had corrected her first statement. She’d meant that _he_ sounded stupid.

It was probably the first time in his young life he’d been called that.

He’d left her to adventure on her own while he went off to sulk in the library. The last thing she’d wanted was to get scolded by her brother for teasing his young charge, so eventually, Juliet had swallowed her pride and went to find him. She had found him sitting on one of the giant, ornate armchairs in the library, quietly absorbed in the old copy of Alice in Wonderland. Her eyes had lit up at that — she loved the old drawings in that book. It was thus that she’d ended up perched on top of the armchair as Artemis had flipped through the pages, pointedly angling it so that she would be able to see the book. They’d eventually tried to recreate the Charles Robinson illustration style with the paper lying around Artemis Sr’s office, and that had taken up the rest of the day.

This wrestling poster was one of many paintings that they’d created, Artemis remembered with a twinge of nostalgia. It was one of the more innocent memories he had from his childhood.

Gently, he set the painting aside so that he could leaf through the rest of the box.

Juliet picked it up off the desk. “That one is my favorite,” she remarked, gently tracing the outline of the girl standing in the center of the ring. “I always thought it looked so _badass_. It inspired my costume’s design.”

“I thought that the patterns on your green leotard seemed familiar,” Artemis raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should ask for a cut of your merchandise profits.”

She scoffed, not even looking up. “Never in a million years.”

“Just as well,” he moved to pick up another painting. “I’m fairly certain you borrowed heavily from other wrestlers’ designs when we were making that poster. I’d rather not be embroiled when the copyright infringement lawsuit catches up to you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Very mature, Juliet.”

“Whatever,” she dismissed him. “But I was honestly being serious before, you know. You should show these to the boys. I know they’d think this stuff is way cooler than your collection of abstract paintings of the garden,” she handed him back the portrait.

Pursing his lips, he took the paper back carefully. “Perhaps.”

“I’m serious!”

“These paintings are old, Juliet,” he looked at her deliberately as he put the paper he was holding back into the box. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but they’re a tad too fragile to be paraded around. They’re simply not as durable as pieces that are on canvas.”

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Make some new ones. Ones that can be ‘paraded around’,” she made air quotes.  

Scoffing, he put the lid on the box and moved it aside. “New ones _other_ than my paintings of the garden, I assume. What would you suggest I paint, then?”

Juliet straightened at that, hands on her hips and her stance proud. “How about me?”

Artemis blinked. “What?”

“You’ll paint me, and then I’ll paint you— it’ll be fun!” she argued, relaxing her posture somewhat.

“ _Juliet_ —”

“Please?” she clasped her hands together.

Making a face, he relented. Reaching for his paintbrush, he grabbed another sheet of the paper he’d been using earlier. “I will make _one_ of you,” he stressed.

Juliet grinned, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “Alright.”

* * *

He lowered his brush into the cup of water. Moving to the jar of paint he’d been working with earlier, Artemis delicately dipped the bristles into the pot of olive green paint. He began, marking a long, arching line from the top to the bottom of the page.

Working in silence, he bit the inside of lip slightly in concentration. He added another curving line to the page. Settling into his work, he kept his paper towel near his elbow as he alternated between colors. He’d always liked Willem Kalf more than Wassily Kandinsky, Artemis mused, bringing his elbow to the table in an attempt to keep his cuffed shirt sleeves from shifting further down the length of his forearm.

“How’s it coming?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

Artemis unscrewed the cap to a slightly-muddied orange. “I’m looking more at you than I am my paper,” he pointed out. “The benefit of using a subject I am in front of is that it allows me to do a semi-blind contour.”

“Ooh, very artsy sounding.”

“I do try. The more time your eyes spend off your piece, the less you’ll get caught up in trying to correct the minute details.”

Juliet considered that, thinking. “I like it. Do you usually paint like that?”

“Oh, I haven’t painted for pleasure in years,” he remarked, discarding the orange and instead picking up the container of half-dried rose paint.

“Just for ‘business’, then?”

“Oh, please — art forgery is likely the most victimless of crimes, Juliet,” Artemis said slyly.

“Arguably the laziest, too.”

“I’d disagree,” he said. “To be a forger, one must first paint themselves into the life of the artist whom they wish to imitate. It’s not enough to have the signature at the bottom of the canvas, every brushstroke must cry out that it was Monet’s, or Picasso’s, or so on — and no one else’s. And, of course, it must be a completely _original_ counterfeit: a copy of a painting that _could_ have been. It seems obvious that one cannot merely forge a copy of a preexisting piece, and yet…” Artemis trailed off pointedly, adding a series of rose-colored crosshatches to his piece.

“‘And yet’,” Juliet repeated, rolling her eyes. “So pretentious.”

“I’ve — for the most part — given up crime. To give up the occasional indulgence in self-importance would kill me, Juliet,” he met her gaze, smiling a tad lopsidedly. She snorted in derision, and his grin widened.

* * *

Watching him paint, Juliet felt the last bit of tension fade, and her shoulders relaxed. It was funny — Artemis certainly looked every bit his father’s son, but over the years, Artemis’ mannerisms had slowly relaxed into patterns that were noticeably different from those of the Fowl patriarch.

When he’d been younger, Artemis had tended to smile in a way that was more akin to baring his teeth. She supposed that made sense, considering he’d been involved in one way or another with the Fowl family business since he was a boy. He’d gotten very good at tricking people into believing he was bigger than he was, just like a cat raises its hackles when backed into a corner.

But more recently, when he smiled without seeming as though he was baring his teeth, when he grinned in a way where the right corner of his mouth quirked upwards just a bit more than the left, Artemis reminded her of Domovoi. It was… weird to watch the transition happen in real time. Juliet remembered nearly swerving her car into another lane when she’d first been able to put her finger on where exactly some of Artemis’ unconscious mannerisms came from after she’d picked him up from St. Bart’s last fall.

“Would you please stop fidgeting?” Artemis chided. Juliet grinned.

It was good-weird, she decided, straightening her posture.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s alright — I’m just about finished.”

“I want to look as soon as you’ve wrapped it up,” she reminded him. He gestured at her with his brush.

“Of course. You’re up next, as I’m sure you remember.”

“I’ll try my best to not make you look like a prick,” she promised.

He frowned, continuing to paint. “Your benevolence never ceases to astound,” he sighed, adding another stroke across the page.

Keeping her posture steady, Juliet shot a quick glance at the series of discarded paintings of the garden. In her opinion, they were better to look at from a distance — the deconstructed studies seemed almost mechanical in how they depicted abstraction, but the colors were beautiful. There were warm pages, with romantic corals and velvety damasks, and cool pages, with sea greens and lilacs. Even if the forms on the page were painfully technical, the colors were purely emotional. You had to hold the pages at an arm's length, Juliet reasoned, but they were so much more alive once you got that bit of distance.   

“You may move now,” Artemis declared, and she started, looking at him. Carefully, he turned the page he’d been working around to face her. Her eyes widened.

“I’m green,” she laughed in delight, moving to look closer.

“Obviously,” he remarked, angling it so that she could look at it better. “You’re the Jade Princess, after all. It wouldn’t have been right to choose any other color scheme.”

She studied the page for a bit longer, letting her eyes trace over the weighted lines that made up her outline.

“Your portrait is going to be rose,” she decided after a moment.

“ _Interesting_ ,” he leaned back. “We’re going to be complementary colors, then?”

“I mean, technically they’re opposites,” she shrugged. “But I think the colors go together. It’s like the leaves and flowers of the rose bush.”

He considered that. “Hm. Opposites with the same roots?”

Juliet nodded. “Yeah.”

“Very poetic,” Artemis noted, setting the still-wet painting down to dry. “Not to mention sentimental — you take after your brother in that regard.”

“Thanks,” Juliet smiled. “I still have to actually paint you, though, so get up.”

Artemis huffed, but he rose from his seat all the same. As she sat down, Juliet reached for the pot of rose paint. Sparing a final glance at the paper before her, she looked up at Artemis.

She began to paint.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a drawing done by @bird.fairy (insta)/ artydarling (tumblr)! 
> 
> The title comes from the Irish version of ‘seeing things through rose-colored glasses’ — feiceann sé/sí mil ar chuiseogach i ngach áit translates directly to ‘he/she sees honey on the tall-stemmed grass’. 
> 
> The ‘it’s not an argument, merely an elegant suspicion' is an allusion to a series of courses on philosophy (‘Masters of Suspicion’ hosted by Rick Roderick— it was an overview of various popular philosophers in the 19th/20th century) pushed out by the Teaching Company in 1993. The interaction between Artemis and Juliet when they were young took place in ~1996. Angeline canonically was adamant that he shouldn’t be allowed to skip ahead grades, so I imagine a compromise would be letting him go through college level material but still be enrolled in the grade that corresponded to his age. The course I mentioned would've probably just started being sold overseas (it was sold originally from Virginia, USA), and Roderick’s suave (but a bit smug at times) method of teaching would’ve made the old tapes probably very in line with what Artemis considered ‘entertainment’ at age 8.


End file.
